An Act of Compassion
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Forgiveness is an act of compassion. It's not done because they deserve it. It's done because they need it. Peter/Sylar rather long one-shot.


**An Act of Compassion**

**Author's Note: Another one, oh dear. But then, I've had that quote (and the one at the end too) in my head for ages. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, or either of the quotes. **

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"_To forgive is an act of compassion. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it." _– Anthony Head, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

Darkness.

Rain, pouring down his face as he ran, ran so fast he felt as though his heart was being pulled out of his chest. He ran into an alley, an ordinary, run-of-the-mill alley complete with several dumpsters.

Night. It was night, or at least felt like it. Black storm clouds blocked his view of the sky so it was as good as. A night of terror, feeling the pure agony of prey, running even though deep down you knew there was no point. No point at all because sooner or later he would catch you.

Sooner, he was beginning to think as he heard the quiet footsteps behind him, loud even in the pouring rain. He spun around, faced the owner of the footsteps. No use running now. If he did, he'd have no strength to fight back when he was finally caught. Better to end it now.

His breath came in gasps, he saw it cloud in the air, disappear, reappear. The rain at least kept his hair out of his eyes as he gazed at the man before him.

Sylar grinned, somehow twisting his face into a strange mask of death. A skeleton, welding a scythe, ready to receive our souls and take them to the afterlife, if they believed in one. Was that what he was? Peter shook his head. No, he couldn't be.

"Well, finally," Sylar said, and Peter realised he too was panting, from excitement, anticipation, he didn't know. Maybe he was simply out of breath. "You're a hero, Peter. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

Peter didn't try and say anything. On the one hand, he needed to conserve his strength. On the other, he simply had nothing to say. At least, nothing Sylar wanted to hear.

He saw the spark at Sylar's fingertips, anticipated, ducked behind a dumpster. So, obviously Elle and her memory no longer had any effect on his adversary. Maybe he truly was lost. Maybe Claire was right.

He heard Sylar sigh, frustrated. "I thought we'd gotten past this, Peter," he shouted, beginning to move slowly forward. "Come out and fight. Or is your motto now – oh, what was it? – 'run and live to fight another day'? Is that what you believe now?" Sylar chuckled. "Because, seriously, you can run as fast and as far as you want, I'm still going to find you. You know it as well as I do."

Peter rose to his feet and moved out from behind the dumpster, his hands up in a gesture of surrender or, at least, a raising of the metaphorical white flag.

Sylar cocked his head to the side, smiled. "Oh, Peter, you really are _so _stu--" He was flung down the alleyway as far as Peter could throw him. His telekinetic skills were a bit rusty so it wasn't far but the move was enough to shock Sylar, although not enough to shut him up.

He laughed quietly, rising gracefully to his feet in a matter of seconds. "So, there's a little bit of fight left in you." He smirked. "That will just make this all the more _fun_."

Their abilities weren't the only weapons used. Whenever he was close enough, Peter always managed to throw a punch which connected with Sylar's face, breaking a few bones at least. Too bad he had added regeneration to his array long ago.

Sylar never lowered himself enough to resort to physical violence, at least that was what Peter thought. He had abilities enough so that eventually he had Peter pinned to the ground, with his telekinesis, of course. He'd never _touch _Peter.

He lowered himself enough, though, so he could whisper in Peter's ear, "This is the end. I win." He drew back, readied himself. Finally he'd be able to wipe Peter Petrelli from this plane of existence.

"I forgive you." Peter didn't know where _that_ came from. He couldn't forgive the bastard, not after everything he'd done. Nathan's death. Claire's complete personality alteration. And yet, he did. He knew this was the end, had known ever since this chase had begun. So, he'd finally do something, something he knew wouldn't do anything. Heroic deeds had never been his forte, no matter how hard he'd tried. So, this would be his last act. An act of compassion.

Sylar blinked, hesitated. "What?" He looked almost...confused. He tried to laugh it off. "If this is some kind of trick..."

Peter shook his head. Well, as much as he could. Sylar still had a very firm telekinetic grip on him. "No tricks. I just...forgive you, that's all."

Sylar stood so swiftly, his telekinetic hold lifting so abruptly, he threw Peter off-balance. His head banged against the concrete and he saw stars for one second. And then it cleared as he heard Sylar growled, "You self-righteous _bastard!_" He grabbed Peter off the ground, hauling him up to eye level.

"_You_," he hissed, imbuing the word with every venomous emotion he could. "Take it back."

Peter blinked. "No," he said simply. "I forgive you. What you did, what you will do, hell, even what you'll do to me, I forgive it all."

Sylar shook him, his fingernails cutting through the fabric of Peter's collar, ripping into his flesh, drawing blood. Peter fell to the ground, his shirt now ruined. Dammit, why did he always wear his best clothes whenever a psycho was about to murder him?

He watched Sylar from the ground, curious to see what the killer would do. He hurt from his impact with the solid concrete beneath but he no longer felt the fear he once had. Somehow, he didn't know where or when, it had disappeared.

A telekinetic push sent him scrapping across the concrete, slammed him into the nearest dumpster. As he saw stars again, he felt Sylar kneel down beside him. "You still forgive me now?" He felt the whisper near his ear, Sylar's breath the only painless warmth he'd felt all night.

Peter waited for the stars to subside. He nodded his head slowly once they had. "Yeah, I still do."

He heard Sylar hiss, felt the strong, surprisingly warm hand grip his throat, choking him. "Take it back," he heard whispered in his ear. "I'll kill you if you don't."

He shook his head, smiled. "You'll kill me even if I do." He gazed up into Sylar's eyes.

And saw that he was wrong.

As he blinked, confused, Sylar released him, standing up as gracefully as he ever did. He sucked in air, his hand going instinctively to his throat.

He sat there, surrounded by garbage, the rain still bucketing down as heavy as it ever did. He heard Sylar laugh, wondered if he had just been toyed with. It wasn't unheard of. He didn't glance up, though. If he wanted to kill him, he could go right ahead.

So, it was with some surprise that he felt Sylar sit down next to him. Well, okay, he wasn't too surprised. That emotion seemed to have left him for the moment. No doubt it would come back in force later.

"You know, you really are a bastard, Peter."

Peter smiled. "Yes, a _self-righteous_ bastard, if I'm not mistaken." He glanced over at him, saw him watching, glanced away.

Neither of them spoke, the only sounds the ones made when the rain smashed into the ground, occasionally the sound of traffic from the street nearby.

He felt Sylar take his hand, twined their fingers together. He _did not _look around, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the dumpster across the way. He also did not spare a thought for how _right _it felt. Well, not much anyway.

"You really forgive me, Peter?" A whisper, near his ear. Again the puff of warm breath, this time sending a shiver anyone else wouldn't have hesitated to describe as delicious down his spine.

He turned his face slowly, knowing what he'd find. His lips brushed Sylar's as he whispered in return, "Yes...always."

Dark eyes meet his own, their faces just an inch apart, all he had to do was move a little bit closer...

"Do you forgive me for this?" Sylar pulled away, smiling, rose to his feet.

Peter couldn't help but gasp at the other's sheer audacity. He felt the anger rise, welcomed it. It had been too long since he'd felt it. He stood, Sylar watching him warily.

His hands clenched into fists. No. No. _No. _

Sylar felt himself lifted off the ground, thrown across the alley, crashing into the dumpster, pinning him there. He grinned at Peter. "So, I guess you don't forgive _everything_." He struggled to get free, a task he'd believed incredibly simple. When he found he couldn't, surprise flickered in his dark eyes.

Peter walked slowly over to him, ran a hand down his cheek, whispered in _his _ear this time. "Oh, I forgive you. I just don't _appreciate _it."

"Oh?" Sylar raised an eyebrow, trying to cover the sudden burst of excitement by appearing nonchalant. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Peter smirked. "Oh, I'm a self-righteous bastard, apparently. I think I need a little help in the brain department. Thinking doesn't come too easily to the self-righteous." He released one of his clenched fists and Sylar's shirt flew open, buttons scattering. "We tend to react on...instinct."

"Really?" He tried to keep the excitement from reaching his voice but from his sudden breathlessness, he knew he'd failed epically. As Peter caressed his chest with single-minded intensity, he drew in a breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. "I think I can help with that little...problem."

He grasped the hand Peter was caressing him with his own. "That is, if you'll let me." He waited, impatiently. He hated waiting for anything. But he would, just this once.

Peter grinned. "Oh, I think we can come to some sort of arrangement."

He teleported them to a much more comfortable setting.

"_Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun  
And, baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun, fun..." _– Lady Gaga, _Poker Face_

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**Well...there you go. Hope you enjoyed that. Blame my weirdness on all the Peter/Sylar fics I've been reading. They infect me with their awesomeness. **

**Review please. **


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